


Sojourn

by helico_pter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27961796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helico_pter/pseuds/helico_pter
Summary: Yuri visits Otabek every weekend.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92





	Sojourn

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write a short fic. To accomplish this, I tried to take away the stuff I normally dwell on, like the characters getting to know each other. So, this is a bit of an experiment, I guess.

The afternoons in August are long and golden. Sunset comes late, and the beach roses still in bloom while their red fruit grows. Yuri jogs and bounces down the street, bathed in the rosy light of the early evening, enjoying the buzz of slow traffic and bumblebees. The asphalt is warm and smells like bitumen. Almost every doorside and window is bedecked with flowers, and he greets the flaming red geranium in the earthenware pot by Otabek’s door before leaning over the railing to look down into the sub-street level construction area.

“Beka!” he says, fitting his feet between the supports of the metal railing, hanging down like laundry, doubled over, trying to peer into the coffee house to be. “Beka~?”

A dust-covered Otabek appears in the open doorway. He’s in a sleeveless top, with sweat having left tracks through the dust on his face. He takes off his gloves and moves the breathing mask off his face. “Yura,” he says. “You’re early.”

“Keys,” Yuri says, holding his hand out. Otabek digs them out of his pocket and tosses them up at him.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge,” Otabek says.

“Are you gonna be done soon?” Yuri holds out both of his hands this time, making grabbing motions towards Otabek. “Haven’t seen you all week.”

Otabek reaches up to brush his fingers against Yuri’s palm, letting Yuri squeeze his fingers. “Another hour or so until it gets dark.”

“Pfft,” Yuri opines. “Fine.”

“Be patient,” Otabek says with a smile that is as golden as the sunlight.

Yuri sticks out his tongue at him and pulls himself off the railing, running up the few steps to the ground floor door and fumbles it open with Otabek’s keys. It always smells like coffee, and it makes a heady, aromatic mixture with the sun-warmed scents from outside. Yuri toes off his bright red trainers to go upstairs.

The old wooden stairs are smooth under his bare feet. He undresses and quickly showers off his sweat, afterwards borrowing one of Otabek’s old t-shirts to wear instead. He doesn’t bother with pants, leaving only his underwear on to go back down. He holds onto the sight of the two pillows on Otabek’s bed like he would a kitten. Otabek no longer bothers to put away Yuri’s pillow during the week.

In the kitchen he sniffs through the herbs on the wall and on the window sills, filling himself with the goodness. There’s no rational explanation as to why it’s always sunny in Otabek’s kitchen or why the worn tile floor is warm.

“Hello, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,” he hums, touching the little green things. “And you, basil, you fucking nerd. Mint, you’re cool. Beka is nice to you, right? I bet he talks to you every day.”

Yuri curls his toes against the floor while moving to peruse through the creaky old fridge that’s slanted forwards so that everything tends to slowly roll towards the door. Otabek’s leftovers are herb-marinated chicken, and Yuri pulls them out with a happy grin.

“Thanks for the meal,” he says into the fragrant air, pairing his chicken with some sourdough bread he scavenges from a cupboard.

The kitchen table is piled high with interior decoration magazines. There’s a box of tile samples under it, which Yuri finds good to rest his feet on while he eats. Afterwards the flips through some the magazines, folding the corners of the pages he likes.

When the front door rattles, Yuri leans out of his chair to look down the hallway, but it isn’t Otabek who comes in, but the enemy. Yuri pulls his knees up and rests his chin on them, pouting as JJ makes his appearance in the kitchen, carrying a folder of papers.

“Here again, princess?” JJ is using the folder like a fan, making his tie flap in the fake breeze.

“Here again, asshole?” Yuri counters, pulling the braided leather cord around his ankle through his fingers. His weekend had started so well, and now there was JJ.

“Altin asked me to drop off the permits and plans.” JJ flourishes the folder and tosses it onto the table. “Is he still working?”

“Yeah,” Yuri grunts sullenly.

“Okay, tell him I stopped by.” JJ grins. “Tell him I still think it’s a mistake to take a year off for this.”

“I think I’ll just tell him you’re a dick.”

“You’re cute when you pout.”

“And you’re always an asshole,” Yuri snipes back, which makes JJ’s grin turn into a laugh.

“See you, princess.” JJ tosses off a two-fingered salute and heads back out.

Yuri twists and turns the cord in his fingers, leaving a red indent on his ankle. He opens the folder, but the documents and blueprints are complicated and uninteresting. JJ has a key to Otabek’s place, and he doesn’t.

By the time Otabek knocks on the door, the light of the sun has turned rubescent and Yuri has spread the tile samples across the kitchen floor. He springs up to his feet and rushes over to open the door, but his leap at Otabek is halted by Otabek holding out his hand.

“No,” he says. “I’m all dusty and dirty.”

“Don’t care,” Yuri huffs, but Otabek takes him by his shoulders and walks him backwards until Otabek can close the door behind himself.

“I care,” Otabek says. Even his hair is discoloured grey. There are lines on his face left by the protective gear and varying layers of dirt and sweat. His shirt and jeans might have been black a long time ago. “Hi,” he says anyway, holding both of Yuri’s hands in his. “You’re wearing my favourite Batman shirt.”

“You have a favourite Batman shirt?” Yuri scoffs.

“Yeah, it’s whichever one you’re wearing.”

“Oh my God,” Yuri says, but can’t stop the grin. “Beka.”

“No, I need to shower first.” Otabek still holds him at an arm’s length, although his gaze dwells on Yuri’s bare legs.

“Are you gonna make me wait even _longer_?” Yuri huffs.

“Just ten minutes, okay?” Otabek goes to touch Yuri’s hair, but thinks better of it and heads upstairs. “Don’t leave the tiles laying around, I don’t want to break them.”

“Oh my God!” Yuri says again, but with a whole different tone, stomping back into the kitchen to put the tiles away, but not before he takes pictures of his favourites.

The shower is running when he gets upstairs, and he follows Otabek into the bathroom. “What are the tiles for?” he asks, sitting on the toilet to watch the hazy show through the almost-opaque shower curtain.

“The backsplash.” Otabek doesn’t sound the last bit surprised to have him for company while he washes. “Why?”

“Just curious.” Yuri brings his knees up and plays with his anklet. “Leroy came by too. That asshole.”

“Thought I heard his car. Did he bring the permits?”

“Yeah, they’re on the kitchen table.”

“Anything else?” Otabek moves the shower curtain aside a fraction to peek at Yuri, looking a lot more like himself with the dust washed off his hair and face.

“Who’s coming tomorrow?” The scent of Otabek’s shower gel is sharp in a citrusy way, and Yuri inhales it until his face blooms with the effort.

“Your favourite, JJ, probably. Leo, maybe. Yuuri and Viktor offered to bring food.”

“And me,” Yuri adds.

“And you,” Otabek agrees, turning off the shower. “We’ll finish the floor and start on the walls. Did you like any of the tiles?” He steps out from behind the shower curtain, pushing water out of his hair with his hands. “Yura?”

“Fuck the tiles,” Yuri says. He slides off the toilet, affected by Otabek’s magnetic pull. “I haven’t seen you for a whole week, so inspect me instead of the tiles.”

Otabek bites his lip but the corners of his mouth still tremble with the smile he tries to withhold. “Love it when you say things like that,” he says, curling his hands around Yuri’s jaw, brushing away his hair.

“Fuck yo-”

Otabek kisses him mid-word, slicking his tongue into the cleft of Yuri’s lips. Yuri’s mind fills with a daze that’s half hot, perfumed August evening and half whatever spell Otabek writes into his mouth with his tongue. Some of the water from Otabek’s hair falls on his face like cooling tears. They should sizzle on Yuri’s cheeks.

“Missed you too,” Otabek says, finishing with a soft peck on Yuri’s upper lip.

Yuri is far from finished. He loops his arms around Otabek’s shoulders and hitches one leg up until Otabek catches on and takes his weight, supporting him by grabbing his ass. They stagger out of the bathroom and Yuri gets lowered onto the bed and peeled out of his now wet shirt.

Otabek leans down to continue kissing him while his arms are still stretched above his head. The skin of Otabek’s hands is rough as they travel along the undersides of Yuri’s arms and skim over his armpits, coming to a stop on the curve of his ribcage.

The daze lulls Yuri into pleasant compliancy, drugged and sweetened by the soft friction of their tongues and Otabek’s weight pressing him into the bed. He curls his hands behind Otabek’s head, holding back the wet and dripping longer top strands, although Otabek licks the droplets off his skin anyway.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Otabek murmurs when he shifts off to help Yuri wiggle out of his underwear.

“God, you’re such a sap.” Yuri says without thinking, only to have Otabek place his hand over his mouth.

“Shh, there. I’m _lucky_ ,” Otabek corrects with Yuri mouthing at his palm. “You’re willing to come here every weekend.”

Yuri kisses Otabek’s hand, then holds it away from his mouth to speak. “Beka, I fucking beg of you, can we talk about this later? I wanna fuck.”

Otabek snorts, brushing his thumb against Yuri’s lips until Yuri sucks the digit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the rough pad of his finger. “Okay, but I can’t promise any pillow talk. I’m exhausted.”

Yuri reaches up and pinches Otabek’s lips shut with his fingers, shaking his head, hoping to convey that while he’s not opposed to talking about who’s lucky and for what reason in their relationship, he’s opposed to it _right now_. He’s starving for physical connection and weary from the lack of it, dying to be watered like the herbs on the sunny windowsill.

He’s like one of the salvaged pieces of furniture in the bedroom, like the bed made of pallets or the reupholstered armchair, resurrected by Otabek’s hand. He’s like the geranium outside, blooming for him. He’s like the power tools, vibrating and resonating. He’s sweaty and throbbing and perked up. He’s about to cum from just the kissing and rubbing.

“Okay.” He separates from Otabek with a breathless smack, casting blindly at the bedside table for the loot in it. “We gotta move this on.”

“I’ll do it.” Otabek sits up, pushing Yuri’s grasping hand aside. “I like making a mess out of you.”

The words are enough to make Yuri whine under his breath and rub his thighs together restlessly. He scrapes his nails against his thighs to keep himself from grabbing his dick and jerking off while Otabek rolls a condom over his fingers and coats it with lube.

“Shh,” Otabek hushes him, pulling Yuri’s hands away. “Don’t scratch yourself.” He kisses Yuri to distraction, spreading the lube on and in him.

Otabek trails kisses down his throat and encloses one nipple with a bite hard enough to leave faint toothmarks. Yuri keens softly, arching and trembling, legs taut like bowstrings.

“Shh,” Otabek repeats gently, fingerfucking him open. “What an obedient body.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Yuri nearly sobs, dragging his nails across Otabek’s shoulders instead of his own skin. “Fuckin’ stick it _in_.”

Otabek’s lack of composure is an audible crack in his voice. “Ah.”

Yuri stuffs the shirt discarded earlier under himself, turning onto his front and pulling his knees under himself. The scent of citrus and blooming beach roses whorls around him when Otabek presses onto him. Yuri is dizzied and hot with Otabek’s breath on the back of his neck, bared as his hair parts to fall to the side.

He’s brought to panting and whimpering out of impatience, squeezing his hands over Otabek’s which are holding onto his hips. He’s brought to a sputtering, clenching orgasm by the first few strokes of Otabek’s cock inside him and the merest touch of his hand on his own cock.

Despite Otabek’s claims of exhaustion, he does what he’d promised, making a mess out of Yuri. Otabek wrings a second orgasm out of him, a sluggish, intense one, before coming himself.

The room is dark and blue and Yuri is sweat-drenched when he opens his eyes and wipes the drool from his chin. His jaw still goes slack with the aftershock of Otabek pulling out with a groan and a lewd slurping noise.

“Hhh.” Yuri rolls over and catches Otabek onto himself, stroking his damp hair and shoulders. “Hnn. Beka.”

“Can’t,” Otabek mumbles as Yuri fumbles the condom off him. “Amazing, but can’t.”

“I’m just gonna-” Yuri gathers the jelly of his limbs and forces it under control to get up. “Go to sleep.”

Otabek flops a limp arm after him but stays unmoving on the bed as Yuri goes through the minimum requirements of washing himself in the bathroom. He’s drained, but it’s the good kind of drained. Satiated. Watered and sunned.

#

It’s the heat that wakes him. The blazing brightness that enters through the bay window and comes to lie on the bed with the two of them. Yuri pulls his pillow over his eyes to block the light, but it’s the feeling of being baked under his two bedmates that makes him get up.

He cracks open a window and curls up in the armchair under it, enjoying the cooler air and the sounds of the slow, tilted road. At the bottom of the hill, it joins a wider street, but the noise from it doesn’t have the energy to climb up to where Yuri is sitting. The scent of beach roses lulls him into a sweet dream of his childhood, but a rustle from the bed wakes him up to the sweet dream of his present.

“God, I’m so lucky,” Otabek says huskily from the bed. He’s sat up; his hair is also sitting up, having dried into a silly quif during the night.

“Are you literally picking up where I told you to shut up last night?” Yuri asks, resting his cheek against his pulled-up knees.

“Yeah.” Otabek rolls out of bed and rifles through the pockets of his work jeans. “Here,” he says, bringing the small item to Yuri and placing it in his palm. “Make room.”

Yuri shifts enough to let Otabek sit behind him on the chair, opening his fingers to find a small thin-banded gold ring with a cracked, triangular glass stone setting, like a tiny four-sided pyramid. “Excuse me?” Yuri turns to eye Otabek.

“I found it,” Otabek says, placing the strands of Yuri’s hair behind his ear that tend to fall in his face. He puts his chin on Yuri’s shoulder and nuzzles him, wrapping him into his embrace with both arms.

“ _And_?”

“I found it while ripping up the old floors.” Otabek explains. “It was under a stone marked _Murmansk 1916_ , so I thought of you.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m a century-old stone under your floor.” Yuri deadpans, turning the ring around in his hands. It’s far too tiny for him to actually use; it barely fits his little finger. The gold band is also too thin to have any sort of etching or engraving. When he light hits the glass prism, it emits a tiny rainbow onto his hands. “Beka, look.”

Otabek kisses his ear and the side of his neck, trailing more down his bare shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s nice. Doesn’t fit, but nice.” Yuri puts the tiny ring on his little finger where it only goes two thirds of the way down and makes himself comfortable against Otabek. “Doesn’t really count as a gift either since you _found_ it,” he mutters.

Otabek’s snort of amusement is soft and warm. He holds Yuri a little bit too close for the embrace to remain innocent. His citrus scent is tempered with the earthy hint of sweat, and his mouth tastes of sleep when Yuri turns to kiss him. Yuri hikes one leg over Otabek’s knee, lacing his fingers with Otabek’s to push the hand that is already dangerously low on his stomach even lower. The purple eustoma on the sill of the bay window watches, trembling in the current of air from the window like Yuri trembles with Otabek’s touch.

When Yuri is splayed almost sideways on Otabek’s lap, having both his nipples and dick played with because Otabek is a service-oriented person, Yuri’s phone rings. The noise is muffled and almost overlooked with the background of the noise from the street and Yuri’s panting and hushed whimpers, but when Yuri recognises the ringtone, the pleasure of the moment leaves him in one cold shower.

“Can’t you leave it?” Otabek lifts his head from where he’d been tonguing Yuri’s nipple, sensing Yuri’s tension.

“N-no,” Yuri stutters. “It’s my mom. I gotta take it.”

Yuri slides out of his seat of paradise and finds his phone under his clothes at the foot of the bed. He stares at the namecard on the phone’s lit face until his mind is clear enough to answer, slumped over on the rug by the bed. “What?”

“Is it the blue or green thing that’s for Pa’s morning meds?” His mother sounds tired.

“It’s the green. It’s always been the green,” Yuri replies, holding in the acid. Otabek walks by, touching the top of his head on his way to the bathroom, disappearing from Yuri’s sight and mind, taking away the sense of lightness and pleasure. “How can you still not remember it?”

“Don’t start with me, kid,” she says, sharper. There’s the temper. “I worked all night. What did you do?”

“I take care of Grandpa all week,” Yuri mutters, fanning the familiar argument. “You can at least do it for the weekend.”

“I have to work the whole week and then work more on the weekend?” she comes right back at him. “While you fuck off to your little holiday spot?”

Yuri slots the phone between his shoulder and ear and takes off the ring Otabek had given him to turn it in the light until the hazy rainbow appears on the floor next to him. “Grandpa knows which meds he should take,” he says. “You don’t have to call me.” He doesn’t want to consider that his mother might do it on purpose. She’s always been like that, spreading her own unhappiness onto others, furious at seeing others succeed or be at peace.

“He’s not even awake yet,” she says. “Fine. See if you have a roof over your head when you get back.”

Yuri lets the phone drop, letting the rug catch it. He picks it up again and arranges the ring on the sill next to the eustoma so the rainbow is there and takes a picture, sending it to his grandfather.

 _Mom is mad. I’m sorry. I hope she doesn’t try to give you the wrong pills again. I love you_ , he writes, wondering how being a decent person can skip a generation.

“Everything okay?” Otabek asks when he comes back, heading for his tiny closet of clothes.

“Yeah. It’s just the same shit as always.” Yuri links his phone with the charger. “It’s pointless to take a shower, right? We’re just getting dirty again.”

“It’s up to you.” Otabek finishes dressing. “I’m starving.”

The thought of food rouses Yuri enough to get dressed as well. “I’ll show you the tiles I liked,” he calls after Otabek who’s already halfway downstairs.

Yuri borrows another one of Otabek’s old t-shirts and unearths his worn work jeans from his bag. He puts the ring back on even though he knows he can’t wear it while working, but for now it’s a nice, physical reminder that he’s loved, squeezing his finger almost uncomfortably.

The sun comes from the front in the mornings and from the back in the evenings, but still, it’s as though Otabek’s kitchen has a sun of its own. It’s already filled with the noise of food, the skillet hissing under eggs, the coffee maker burbling with water, the toaster’s happy springs boinging under the slices of bread.

The windows of the kitchen give out to the courtyard enclosed by the block of old houses, filled with lilacs that are long past their bloom and the ever-present, hardy beach roses. There is no door from the kitchen to the yard, but Yuri opens a window to let in the flowers.

“Rosemary, you thirsty slut,” he murmurs, finding the herbs dry in their clay pots. He goes about watering them carefully, and only feels the heat in his cheeks when he turns and Otabek is watching him.

“You’re good at taking care of them,” Otabek says, breaking more eggs into the skillet. “They would probably have died long ago if you weren’t here every weekend to talk to them.”

“Don’t you talk to them?” Yuri gives up the watering can and follows Otabek’s invitation to go cuddle under his arm.

“Sometimes,” Otabek says. “But I don’t call any of them thirsty sluts.”

“Rosemary just strikes me that way,” Yuri murmurs. “Look.” He brings out his phone and flips to the pictures of the tiles he’d taken. “I like these three.”

“I like the blue one too,” Otabek says, resting his chin on Yuri’s head. “I wouldn’t have been able to pick without you.”

“I highly doubt that,” Yuri voices his disbelief. “You’ve done nothing but impossible decisions. Why wouldn’t you be able to pick a tile?”

“What do you mean?” Otabek is somehow capable of turning out perfect sunny side up eggs one-handedly, with his other hand occupied with holding onto Yuri. A big breakfast is a must.

“I mean taking a year off school to open your own fucking coffee shop. To buy this place and renovate it, to risk it even though you had a cushy job lined up at Leroy’s father’s firm after graduation. You just put all that to the side like it was nothing.” There’s nothing but admiration in Yuri for this side of Otabek. The determination to go after things he desires, and do it like a clockmaker, gently and carefully and without upsetting all the other moving parts.

“I just wanted to do this and not that right now,” Otabek says. “But the tiles are hard. I’m not an interior decorator. I’m not even an architect yet.” He kisses the side of Yuri’s head. “That’s why you’re irreplaceable to me. You cut through the bullshit.”

“The bullshit of choosing tiles?”

“That too. Grab the toast?”

The table is quickly set, the food is consumed, and the chosen blue tile is brought out of the box to be inspected. The pattern on it is in two shades of dark blue, enough to be interesting but not enough to distract the eye to exhaustion. Yuri strokes the tile’s surface while Otabek strokes his legs, conveniently placed across Otabek’s lap. When he puts a finger between the thin leather anklet and Yuri’s skin, Yuri begins to find it difficult to sit still.

“Somehow it feels like a holiday,” Otabek says, stroking Yuri’s ankle and unknowingly echoing Yuri’s mother. “With you here.”

“Today or every time?”

“Every time, but especially today. Ahh.” Otabek rolls his shoulders. “Maybe I could still cancel everything for today and just sit with you like this all weekend.”

“Are you kidding me?” Yuri groans, losing almost all of the small amount of motivation he’d had in the first place. “What about your floors? When are you gonna get them done? What about the backsplash?”

“We weren’t going to do that today, anyway,” Otabek says, taking the tile from Yuri’s hand and placing it on the table amongst their dishes. “I haven’t even ordered the tiles.” He uses the momentum to his advantage and leans in to kiss Yuri, short, soft, small pecks onto his lips and chin.

Yuri abandons his seat and slides into Otabek’s lap to transform the small kisses into ones with intent and longevity. The way Otabek tucks his hair out of the way makes Yuri feel precious, and the way their mouths fit together makes him feel wanted.

At least until Otabek puts him aside. “I heard JJ’s car.”

“That fucker,” Yuri says, planting himself back into his seat just as the door opens, JJ flaunting his privilege of having Otabek’s spare keys again.

“Yoo, you decent?” JJ calls out. “Anyone flashing their legs here today?”

Otabek glances at Yuri who scoffs. “He saw me in my underwear. So what?”

“You’re early,” Otabek says as JJ comes into the kitchen, twirling the key around his finger. Leo, who Yuri has always considered to look like a spaniel, is behind him.

“More time to work, right?” JJ says.

“I brought bagels,” Leo adds, offering a brown paper bag which Yuri springs up to receive.

“You’ve eaten?” Otabek gets up.

“Yep, all ready to go.” JJ smacks a fist into his palm, wearing an oversized grin on his face. “Let’s do this, Altin.”

The two of them clap each other on the shoulder on their way out, and Yuri squeezes the air out of the bagels in frustration and envy, causing Leo to make a little whine of concern, just like the spaniel he is. Yuri shoves the paper bag onto the counter and starts clearing the dishes left behind from their breakfast.

“What’re you staring at?” he hisses at Leo, who raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture and backs out.

Yuri does the washing up before getting into his work boots and heading out. The heat and the scent of the roses and their blooming fruit meet him at the door, and after tying back his hair, he stands on the doorstep and breathes in the hot perfume until he hears the first whirrs of some power tool from the construction area. The rest of the morning disappears behind rebreathers, safety glasses, work gloves, a haze of cement dust, and unending noise only made tolerable by earmuffs.

Later, dizzy with the combination of heat and the rest of the sense-invading factors, Yuri staggers into the courtyard and its relative shade of rose bushes to rest. Leo, who’s almost as blonde as Yuri with all the dust in his hair, joins him, drooping under the pressure. Otabek and JJ keep going, talking and planning and going over the drawings when they stop grinding away the grime from the foundations.

“They’re like power tools too, right?” Leo comments, glancing inside.

“I used to think all of you were like that until I met you,” Yuri says, wiping sweat and dust off his face onto the hem of his shirt. “You’re so... _mellow_.”

“Ah, thanks?” The way Leo moves his face always makes him seem either sleepy or apologetic.

“But yeah,” Yuri agrees. “They kinda are.”

Leo fans himself by flapping the front of his shirt. “JJ keeps saying Otabek is wasting his time doing this, but he’s here every other day to help anyway.”

“Are you trying to make him out to be some kinda good guy?” Yuri grunts, affronted at the very idea. He’s standing nearly inside the lilac bush by the door to get the full effect of its cool, green shadow.

“I just think he’s more invested than he lets on,” Leo explains. “He’s the architect in charge and everything.”

Yuri groans with deep and abiding annoyance, shoving a hand into his pocket to play with the ring Otabek had gifted him, pressing the point of the prism into his fingertip. He can only come on the weekends while JJ can come and go however much he wants. And he’s _useful_ , an actually graduated architect, if only just recently. There’s so much Otabek can share with him, just based on their common occupation, that Yuri has no place in.

“Isn’t he married?” he mutters.

“Who?” Leo asks guilelessly.

“Leroy!”

“You called?” JJ pokes his head out of the doorway, wearing both his goggles and rebreather on his forehead and earmuffs in hand. “Are you two going to come back in and help or just sun yourselves out here for the rest of the day?”

“Sorry,” Leo says and goes back in, but Yuri’s entrance is blocked.

“Although I won’t mind if you take off your pants and flash those legs in the sun, princess,” JJ tells him in an undertone.

“You’re a fucking sleazebag, you know that?” Yuri shoulders him aside, blinking to get used to the dim interior. He hones in on Otabek to help him move the flood lights into what’s going to be the kitchen. “Beka.” He pulls Otabek around the corner and pushes him into the wall.

“Thirsty?” Otabek asks, undeterred. His rebreather is pushed down around his neck along with his earmuffs.

“I wanna fuck until the headboard of your bed comes off,” Yuri asserts, hands flat against the wall on either side of Otabek.

“Do you want me to tell them to go home?” Otabek pulls Yuri in by his hips, pushing his legs apart with his knee.

“Fuck, yes,” Yuri mutters, this time dizzied by the dark and the dust and the weird echo of JJ and Leo’s voices in the empty space creating a background to their breathless kiss. Afterwards Yuri shoves Otabek back into the wall. “Of course not,” he says. “They’re here just today, right? Not tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees.

“But you’d tell them to go if I wanted that?” Yuri asks.

“Yeah.”

“Hnnrgnh.” Yuri buries his face briefly into Otabek’s neck, breathing in his sweaty scent, not helped at all by Otabek holding him against his thigh with both hands on Yuri’s ass. “I’m good,” Yuri grunts.

“You sure?”

“Do you want this fucking floor finished or not?”

Otabek pulls his hands off and up in surrender. “Got it.”

The floors are concrete, newly poured and patterned to resemble a wood grain. They spend the rest of the morning sanding and polishing the kitchen floor, which includes setting up the lights, the rotary sander, and the vacuum pumps for removing the worst of the dust. After midday, when the heat is at its worst, Viktor walks in arm-in-arm with Katsuki.

“Sustenance!” Viktor declares to silence and stares.

“Are you waiting for applause?” Yuri asks, taking enjoyment in seeing Viktor deflate a little.

“Yura, go open the door so he can use the kitchen, okay?” Otabek says, handing him the keys. “Katsuki, can you come see if the water connections are where you want them?”

“Oh. Sure.” Katsuki unlinks from Viktor, and Yuri lowkey envies his wide-brimmed straw sunhat.

“I’ll be okay with Yurio’s help,” Viktor assures his better half unnecessarily, taking Yuri’s arm instead. “I’m so proud of Yuuri,” he confides in Yuri as they get out and take the stone steps up to street level, and then the geranium-decorated steps up to Otabek’s door.

“Why? He managed to put his clothes on by himself this morning?” Yuri says, face sore from wearing the safety gear all morning.

“It’s his first solo decoration job,” Viktor says, amused. His other arm is taken by a huge basket covered with a twee gingham cloth. “It’ll be a beautiful space.”

“Fine. Yes. Beautiful,” Yuri repeats mechanically. “You finally stopped coddling him?”

“It’s not coddling, it’s supervision.” Viktor heaves the basket onto the table in the kitchen and looks at Yuri over the top of his pink-and-orange-tinted heart-shaped sunglasses. “I made and brought the secret treat.”

“Thanks, but stop calling it that,” Yuri mutters.

“How is your grandfather?” Viktor asks, handing Yuri a lidded plastic container filled with sugared, pink cubes. Yuri cracks the lid open a tiny amount and inhales the scent of roses.

“Same as always,” he says and makes sure the lid is airtight when he closes the container to preserve the Turkish delights. “On good days he can move around. On bad days he stays in bed. He’s bored.”

“Yurio,” Viktor flicks his pastel sunglasses onto his forehead and places his hands on Yuri’s shoulders, looking him square in the eye. “Your devotion is remarkable. And if you’re going to help me with the food, go wash your hands.” He pushes Yuri out of the kitchen. “And your face, and change your shirt!” Viktor calls after him.

While upstairs, Yuri takes the lid of the plastic container again and takes a picture of the delights for his grandfather, sending it as a preview, ignoring the messages from his mother. Then he cleans himself up and returns to the kitchen. Katsuki is still nowhere to be seen, and the power tools remain silent.

Viktor has the blue tile in hand when Yuri returns. “So he finally picked one, did he?”

“I did,” Yuri says.

“Well, _that_ makes so much more sense. The boy is _slow_.” Viktor nods. “Are you planning to work at the shop once it opens?”

Yuri pauses in piling the pre-ground meats onto the counter, floored. “I never thought about that.”

“Thinking about yourself isn’t a crime, dear Yurio,” Viktor says in a sing-song, shaking open his apron to protect his summer pastel ensemble. “We’re making meat _balls_ today.”

“God, are you a child?” Yuri snorts, scowl-smiling away from Viktor to hide his amusement. It wanes a little when he watches Viktor rummage through Otabek’s cupboard with the familiarity of someone who visits often. He asks Yuri to find breadcrumbs, but Yuri has no idea where those are. It sends him into a sulk, peeling and slicing garlic instead.

“Where are you attending school this year?” Viktor asks when he’s given Yuri the task of mixing the meatball mixture, citing a tennis elbow.

“Nowhere,” Yuri mutters, punching the raw meat and spices. His phone dings, and Viktor takes the personal freedom of putting his hands in all of Yuri’s pockets to find it.

“It’s your mother, scolding you,” he declares cheerfully. But at least he doesn’t ask if Yuri wants to reply and only places the phone face-down on the table. “I thought you passed the entrance exams.”

“I did.” The bowl rattles against the granite counter. “But I can’t go. I’ll get a home nursing degree or something at a community college.”

“Is that for your grandfather?”

The floor under them begins to resonate with the buzz of whatever tool is being used downstairs. Even the bowl rattles when Yuri rests it on the counter, picking minced meat from under his fingernails without a word.

“I know for a fact he was very proud of you for passing those exams,” Viktor says. He places sheets of parchment paper on the table and takes the bowl from Yuri, removing the ring he wears in preparation for rolling the meatballs.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can leave him with my mom.” Yuri thinks of the ring at the bottom of his pocket, which had remained unfound or uncommented by Viktor. “I’d have to move here to go to uni.”

“Would that be so bad?” Viktor spreads his arms, gesturing at the kitchen.

“I mean, I’d have to move here with my grandpa and have the money to pay someone to take care of him while I’m at school and at work,” Yuri says mechanically. “Like I don’t think about it every fucking day.”

With the meatballs rolled and the skillet hot, the temperature of the kitchen starts to become unbearable. Yuri opens both the kitchen windows and the front door, jamming it open with a boot to try and create a cross-breeze. Viktor flips the meatballs expertly while Yuri gets to cutting open the breads that Viktor and Yuuri had brought in preparation for making the meatball sandwiches.

Yuri has sweat trickling down the back of his neck and into his shirt by the time Yuuri comes up, cheeks glowing with excitement. Soon after him the rest follow, lining up to wash the worst off their faces and hands and then helping to carry chairs and the food into the courtyard to be eaten.

The chosen tile gets passed around along with napkins, and Yuri shows his other favourites to Yuuri in the shade of Yuuri’s hat. Viktor presides over the lunch like a queen bee in his iridescent pastel colours, and JJ suggests Yuri should put on a bikini to catch some sun. Yuri throws the rest of his water at him, while Otabek strokes his back possessively.

After lunch, Leo excuses himself and leaves with Viktor and Yuuri. Yuri tidies up the kitchen, sweating from every pore, before he goes to join Otabek and JJ again. There’s enough work for it not to be boring, and the time goes quickly. Yuri feels like a wrung-out kitchen rag by the time they finish for the day, and he barely has the energy to tell JJ to fuck off when he leaves.

He stands on the steps leading up to Otabek’s door, by the red geranium, and looks up and down the street, which is sweltering in the early evening heat, creating a haze at the bottom of the hill like an oil slick. JJ’s sports car makes an obnoxious rumble as he turns on launch control before leaving the intersection. Following that, everything seems quieter.

The croon of wood pigeons roosting on the tops of the streetlights fills the gaps where the blackbirds don’t sing. Otabek joins him after locking up the construction area, shoving the work gloves he’d forgot on his hands into his back pocket. He bumps his shoulder into Yuri’s and nods his chin upwards, inviting Yuri to follow him inside.

They undress each other in silence, go upstairs in silence, and shower together, washing the grime of the day off each other in a silence blanketed by the white noise of the flowing water. They pat each other dry with fresh towels after the shower, sharing kisses here and there. Yuri places them under Otabek’s chin and on his throat, while Otabek leaves little marks on his shoulders and collarbones.

“Headboard?” Otabek whispers.

“ _Food_ ,” Yuri hisses desperately.

Otabek chuckles softly, and they move on to dress. Otabek’s tanktop is a little bit too big on Yuri, but he enjoys the breeze as they pad back downstairs in their underwear to finish the meatballs. Yuri sits with his feet in Otabek’s lap, groaning at the taste of the food and the sensation of pressure relieving in his feet.

“Is it okay if I sleep while we fuck?” Yuri mumbles, barely able to keep his eyes open, succumbing to the comforts of the evening.

“How about we both just sleep?” Otabek suggests, stroking Yuri’s ankles. “There’s still tomorrow.”

“Beka,” Yuri sighs. Even with his eyes closed he can see the red light of the setting sun in the kitchen. The fragrance of the herbs hangs in the humid air like a drape, weighing Yuri down. “Take me upstairs.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” Otabek asks, getting up with the soft scrape of his chair against the tile floor.

“No.” Yuri affects a wounded tone, but takes the offered arm and shoulder as they drag each other up the stairs and into bed. At night, it’s cooler on the street side of the building, but only a fraction so. Otabek tosses off his t-shirt and rolls the tanktop off Yuri, then lays with him in the valley of the bedsheets, breathing into the crook of his neck, rough fingers hypnotic on the small of Yuri’s back. Yuri does the same, sinking into sleep with Otabek’s skin under his hands.

#

The tickety-tock of a keyboard wakes him in the morning. At first Yuri thinks it’s raining, but the sun streams unapologetically in through the windows when he opens his eyes. The noise isn’t water hitting the glass, but Otabek typing, sitting away at his makeshift desk of wooden boxes.

“Beka?” Yuri sits up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Otabek keeps typing. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Just some emails. I wanted to get them out of the way.”

Yuri watches the back of Otabek’s head for a while, slowly waking up to anticipation. The sun isn’t too hot yet, and there are two still-cold bottles of fizzy water on the little bedside table. Yuri gets up to rinse out his mouth with the water that tastes like static and like someone had shown the water a piece of fruit once, then visits the bathroom and comes back without his underwear but with a towel in hand.

He plants himself on the bed on top of the towel and get the lube, making sure to pop the cap as loudly as possible, which has the desired effect of disturbing Otabek’s concentration.

“Yura?”

“No! You can’t look,” Yuri says when Otabek goes to turn his head. “You’re working.”

“Yura...” Otabek doesn’t resume typing.

Yuri squeezes a big dollop of shiny lube on his fingers. “Oh, it’s so cold,” he says, only slightly theatrically.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Yuri slides the lube around his hand for a little while, then lays on his side, propping his head up with his other hand so he can still see Otabek, and starts to finger himself, trying to make the slick sounds as obvious as possible. “Oh. Ohh.”

Otabek clears his throat. “Yura.”

“Did you finish?” Yuri asks, making his voice extra-breathy. “Mmm. Fuck.” Although it isn’t unpleasant, he isn’t really getting off on fingering himself either, but the aspect of expectation, and watching Otabek twitch at the exaggerated sounds, makes it fun.

Otabek grunts and starts typing again, shoulders tense and taking far more pauses than before. A few times he curses under his breath and makes long deletions, and Yuri has to hold in his laughter. By the time Otabek actually finishes, Yuri is rocking slowly into the towel, laying on his stomach but with his head still propped up to watch Otabek over his shoulder.

“You done?” he asks when Otabek gets up.

“Done with you being a tease,” Otabek grunts. The sun compliments his bare chest and the bulge in his trunks as he comes to the bed, where Yuri springs up to his hands and knees and crawls on all fours to the edge of the mattress to help Otabek out of his underwear.

Yuri dips the tip of his tongue into the salivating slit on the shiny head of Otabek’s cock, huffing in actual breathless excitement now. He swallows Otabek about halfway, letting the weight and heat and taste of him spread on his tongue. The earlier anticipatory heat becomes furious and demanding while he sucks, Otabek’s hands in his hair and Otabek’s groans of encouragement as hot on him as the sun.

Otabek caresses under Yuri’s chin, feeling his throat move as Yuri fellates him, watching with heavy eyes. When he’s had enough, he pulls Yuri up, smearing the saliva across his lips with his thumb. Yuri opens his mouth, Otabek’s thumb pressing on his tongue while Otabek licks along his teeth, replacing the taste of his cock with the taste of his mouth.

Yuri hangs off Otabek, arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands clutching at Otabek’s hair, drinking in the lush kiss. He doesn’t notice being lowered onto the bed until the sheets cradle him, suffused with sunlight and their mingled scent. Otabek plucks at his skin with his lips, travelling down his throat and chest, using his teeth on Yuri’s left nipple. Yuri clenches his teeth, arching his neck.

“Shh. Don’t,” Otabek says, pushing his thumb against Yuri’s lips again. “I can hear you grinding your teeth.”

“I just- I’m ready to go,” Yuri groans. “And you’re fucking about with my chest.”

Otabek bites him again, sucking the nipple into his mouth, then releases it with a pop, resting his weight between Yuri’s legs, bringing a moan from Yuri at the direct contact. “I like your chest.” He pinches the other nipple, and Yuri bites his thumb. “Just because you started without me doesn’t mean I don’t get to have foreplay.”

“Ah, fuck,” Yuri hiccups, arching again from the friction of Otabek’s skin on his, the tongue curling between his lips, and the cock rubbing against his thigh. He hikes his knees around Otabek’s hips, squeezing him down, unsure of where Otabek ends and the sun begins. “ _Beka_.”

Otabek hooks his arm under Yuri’s left leg and positions his heel on his shoulder, turning to kiss his ankle. He licks under the leather strap, pulling on it with his teeth. Yuri’s heart pounds so fast it’s becoming hard to breathe, his pent-up cock twitching and oozing, unattended between them.

“Beka,” he tries again, earning a slow smile and Otabek pressing two fingers into him, then his cock between them, filling Yuri to the brim while sucking on the thin skin over the pulse point of his ankle.

“Not too much?” Otabek asks, a tremor underlying his voice. He curls his fingers upwards inside Yuri, rocking a notch deeper.

“Nope! I’m good!” Yuri gasps, squeezing his eyes shut until he sees rose-shaped sparks. When Otabek leans forwards, changing the angle, a dirty sound leaves Yuri’s lips, the kind of which he’d only learned he could make after meeting Otabek. “Just-”

Otabek noses away the hair over Yuri’s ear. “Just... what?” Otabek’s words are more hot breath than actual voice, washing over Yuri’s skin.

Yuri forgoes words in favour of pulling Otabek even closer despite the strain on his body and bites him. Otabek tastes like salt and sun and the barest hint of copper, and he slips his fingers out of Yuri, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Yuri to start thrusting into him, keeping eye-contact.

It’s the moment Yuri wants to preserve. Not the sex, but being the centre of Otabek’s attention. Even though JJ has the keys and Viktor knows where all the kitchen utensils are, Yuri’s the one who gets to choose the tile and have Otabek’s dick in him.

The sun turns Otabek’s eyes dark amber and gilds his lashes. His lips have flushed red, and Yuri stares at the sight of his enjoyment while fighting his own. His phone does it for him, beeping suddenly with the telltale noise of a message from his mother. Yuri stiffens, and Otabek groans, stopping.

“No,” Otabek says, clasping Yuri’s face between his hands, forcing Yuri to take his weight, which pushes Yuri’s knee into the mattress by his shoulder. “Yura. Not now.” He kisses Yuri, keeping him engaged by claiming him twice over.

“I’m here,” Yuri gasps, fingers digging into Otabek’s shoulders. “Okay? I’m fucking dying. Keep _going_.”

Otabek cradles him, blocking out the sun and the room. He gives Yuri’s body the shape he wants and fucks him slowly, but like a tectonic plate is slow. He’s inexorable, and when Yuri can’t keep from making new and interesting sordid noises, Otabek controls that too, taking Yuri’s cock into his hand, and pulls him through the inevitable, muscle-clenching moment of orgasm that has Yuri clutching at Otabek, unbreathing until the aftershocks overtake him.

When the noise of reality returns, it’s brought on by Otabek coming, body tense and a whine under his breath like an engine starting. At the last second his eyelids flutter and his jaw relaxes, then he lowers his head onto Yuri’s chest, his panting breaths washing over Yuri’s skin. Their bodies remain connected, trembling at the connection point.

“Come live with me,” Otabek says, bringing his face close to Yuri’s.

“What?” Yuri says, still dazed. His phone pings again, and when he turns towards the sound, Otabek palms his face and brings it back to himself.

“Come live with me,” he repeats, resting his forehead against Yuri’s. “Please.”

“Beka.” Yuri hates him a little bit for doing this. “I can’t.” The phone goes off again, and Yuri reaches towards it automatically, only to have Otabek catch both his hands and hold them above his head.

“I love that you come here every weekend,” Otabek says, hushed and hurried. “But I’d love it more if you stayed.”

“Beka!” Yuri squirms. His body is awake with all the discomforts of the previous day’s efforts, combined with the present efforts. “I ca-”

“Yura.” Otabek kisses him. His cock slips out of Yuri, but he doesn’t back off. He kisses Yuri’s cheeks. “Listen. I never use my living space.”

The sun pools on them, hot and perfumed. Yuri rubs his thigh, then transitions to stroking Otabek’s back, turning into his kisses. The living space is by the front door, housing only an obligatory sofa. Yuri doesn’t even remember the colour of the sofa. “Yeah? And?”

Otabek meets his eyes, stroking his thumb over Yuri’s eyebrow. He presses his mouth to Yuri’s when Yuri begins to object. “Just listen. The construction will finish in a few months, and I think the shop will be running by December. I want to go back to school for the spring term.”

Yuri, held still and close by Otabek’s body on top of his, swallows his words. Otabek strokes the hair off Yuri’s forehead, smoothing his thumb over Yuri’s eyebrow.

“Move here,” he urges. “Bring your grandfather. Let’s make the living space into a room for him. I know he can’t use stairs very well. You can work at the shop, if you want, and be close to him every day. And if you want to take the entrance exams again next year, we’ll work out our schedules so your grandfather doesn’t have to be alone.”

Yuri swallows more than words this time. “You’d do something like that for me?”

Otabek’s lashes drip light onto his cheeks when he smiles. “If not for you, who?”

“I’ll think about it,” Yuri whispers.

“That’s all I want.”

Their bodies separate with a smack of sweat when Otabek rolls off him and claims the two bottles of water. After they’ve both had a long drink, with Yuri having emptied the whole bottle, Otabek pulls him close again, kissing the side of his face.

“You’re the most beautiful like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh my God.”

“Sweaty and sexy.”

The sheets are always fresh when Yuri arrives on Friday evenings. He envies Otabek for getting to sleep in the messy ones after he leaves. Still, it’s not the bed he misses the most when he’s gone. It’s the kitchen. It’s the herbs and roses and the sun, which he never remembers seeing at home. It’s the heat of Otabek’s lips travelling over his ear. Otabek slides his hand around Yuri’s waist and kisses the side of his neck.

The afterplay becomes foreplay, and the day becomes late, and the crime is that the evening when Yuri leaves is no less beautiful or scented than the one Yuri had arrived on. Rose-gold and heady. Warm summer tiles in the kitchen and a thirsty red geranium by Yuri’s feet when he kisses Otabek goodbye at the door. Sizzling asphalt when he climbs the hill and returns home to plan the permanent visit.


End file.
